


this displacement begs for water

by sepiacigarettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Acxa/Romelle, Minor Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 01:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19937605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiacigarettes/pseuds/sepiacigarettes
Summary: “They're super...not fussy here, hey?" Okay, not great, but it’s a start.Shiro's hand is still warm against his back. "About?"He's teasing him, Keith knows, but it isn’t mean spirited."Who you like," Keith utters, tongue thick and useless, mouth too fucking dry."No," Shiro says softly. "No, they're not."The Chion have never seen someone with such gorgeous dark hair as Keith's. Keith has never seen somewhere soliberalwith who they like.





	this displacement begs for water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saucerfulofsins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucerfulofsins/gifts).



> For the love of all that is holy, check out [Ribbit's](https://www.twitter.com/ribbitsplace) _gorgeous_ animation for this fic [here](https://twitter.com/ribbitsplace/status/1154739268268560389?s=19).

> Forever waiting for disaster,
> 
> As this displacement begs for water.
> 
> I crawl across this cracked expansion,
> 
> Wanting something, someone to follow.
> 
> I swoon upon my knees come crashing,
> 
> Will you bury me?
> 
> Today, this small favour I am asking
> 
> Hold me, you may drop me tomorrow
> 
> For a change, I'll refrain,
> 
> From hiding all of me from you.
> 
> — AFI, _The Interview_

— K —

Keith is _tired._

In the last two phoebs he’s stepped foot on fifteen different worlds thanks to Atlas and the Paladins planet-hopping along the Helion Belt. They’re linking up the Belt’s occupants to fortify the Coalition, and thankfully, Chione is the final planet on their list.

By the looks of it, they’ve saved the best for last.

It’s a gorgeous planet, with rolling hills, fluorescent flora, and mountains that float in the sky. Its moniker, Planet of Flowers, suits it perfectly.

Atlas’ time on the Helion Belt has been mostly locked away in conference rooms, ironing out negotiations. There were a few celebratory events, but Chione is far less formal than its predecessors.

The Paladins have barely stepped off the ship when their Chione hosts inform them of the celebratory schedule: a flower ceremony to unite Chione to the Coalition, a festival during the afternoon to include the general populace, and a banquet dinner with the royals to seal the deal.

“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought we were here to negotiate,” Lance whispers as they follow their hosts.

“It seems they’ve decided to trust their sister planets,” Coran answers.

“It certainly seems fortuitous,” Allura agrees.

“Only took them fifteen planets,” Pidge snipes.

Keith is just happy they don’t have to be holed up inside all day.

The flower ceremony is colourful and enjoyable enough, even if Pidge and Matt spend half of it burying their noses in their sleeves because their allergies play up. Shiro and Allura sit at the front, pushing lilies into the stream along with the leaders. It’s quiet, peaceful.

The festival? Not so much.

There are people _everywhere._ The Chion are white as chalk, with black face markings and cornsilk hair. Their laughter sounds like twinkling prisms, but it’s their eyes that Keith gets stuck on: pale, hypnotic things.

They’re…pretty.

“What’s your name?” one of them asks, lashes long as he blinks at Keith.

“Keith.”

“Keith,” he chimes, “I’m Hume,” and he reaches up, long fingers touching Keith's hair.

Keith shies away immediately, then cringes. "Sorry. Um. 's unexpected."

"Apologies, Keith," Hume say, ears twitching.

Keith can almost _hear_ Allura scolding him. They _need_ to complete the Belt recruitment.

He squares his shoulders. "It's fine. Um. You can touch it."

Bell-like laughter, and then the fingers are in his hair again, threading through. "So dark," he marvels. "Unlike your mate's."

"My what?"

His ears twitch again. "Captain Shirogane, your mate."

"Oh." Keith takes a moment to wonder if the Galran usage of the word counts here, and then figures there isn't any harm in checking anyway. "My friend, right?"

He cocks his head. "Friend? Are you two not mated?"

Keith chokes on his drink.

"Uh, no,” he wheezes. “No, definitely not."

"Oh," he says, like that doesn’t make any sense. "So _you_ are unmated?"

Keith wants to bury himself under the nearest hill. "Yep," he croaks. “What difference does it make?”

“This is the Festival of Flowers, Paladin Keith,” he says, gesturing to the crowds around them. “It is for the mated to spend together.”

What.

“I’m just—” Keith fumbles. “I’m here on business.”

“Oh. I see.”

Keith braces himself for more probing questions but blessedly, Hume leaves the topic. When he leaves soon after, Keith thinks that’s the end of it.

And yeah, now that he actually opens his eyes and _looks,_ he sees people everywhere in pairs or trios. He spots Acxa weaving a flower crown for Romelle, and then the two of them hold hands as they wander amongst the festivities.

Two Chion, a male and female, have claimed Hunk as their own to discuss tea with, and the third time Keith passes them, he sees one of them lean in to kiss Hunk.

Keith turns away before he sees where it lands.

It isn’t a big deal.

Hunk can kiss whoever he wants. 

The wolf stays close to Keith as he continues on, past Lance pushing a flower behind Pidge’s ear.

He hasn’t seen Shiro anywhere, but that’s normal. It probably won’t be until later that he’ll manage to catch him.

Shiro is always busy.

A varga passes before Keith is approached by two more Chion, a female and a male this time. They touch his hair like Hume did, chiming to each other as they go.

Keith endures it with about as much grace as he can manage, deciding that at least they haven’t brought up the underlying concept of the festival.

Except when they turn to go, the male, Nim, says, "Hume told us you are unmated, Paladin Keith.” He looks to his partner, and then back to Keith, ears flicking forward. “Mypha and I would be honoured if you joined the two of us.”

“Uh,” Keith says, because _what_. “I’m gonna—I should head back. To the others. But thank you? Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Nim bows.

Keith books it.

He hides on the edge of the festivities for the next varga, leaning against the wolf and watching the triplet suns chase each other across the sky. The wolf has gotten so big now, he’s taller than Keith. Shiro keeps telling Keith to buy a saddle.

A shadow falls across the ground in front of Keith, and when he looks up, it’s another Chion. This one is taller than the others, broader. The sides of his cornsilk hair are braided, the rest of it flowing over his shoulders, and the armour he wears glistens in the sunlight.

“Hey?”

“Hello.” The Chion’s eyes flicker. "I'm Jallyr."

Keith salutes him with a half-hearted peace sign. "Keith."

"I know,” Jallyr says. “You're all anyone has been talking about."

"Is it the hair?" Keith asks, slightly amused.

The Chione's markings tinge blue. "Yes. We've never seen such long dark hair before."

"I guess I’m a rarity,” Keith says.

"You are," Jallyr agrees. "Very much so."

Keith needs water. The bubbly green liquid he’s been nursing since coming to this spot is half sugar, half alcohol, and he isn’t sure what he’s going to wake up with first: cavities or a hangover.

“Okay.” Keith holds out his bottle. “Uh, are you drinking?”

Jallyr crouches down to this level. "Are you offering?"

And no, he isn’t, not really, but all he’s got running through his head is Allura and Coran and Shiro drilling into the Paladins how important this last planet is.

"I guess?"

Jallyr grins. "Then I suppose I am."

They drink and it fizzes all the way down to Keith's fingers. The beverage is definitely a competition between the sugar and alcohol content. Keith thinks the sugar is going to win.

“I brought you something,” Jallyr says. “To weave into your hair.”

It’s a silken ribbon colored turquoise blue.

Keith balks. "Is that a Chion thing? Because braiding means something else in my culture.”

Jallyr quirks his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Galra...we do them for family members, or partners. They’re special."

Jallyr shakes his head. "Not here, I’m sorry. This is merely me indulging.”

“In my hair, right?” Keith says weakly.

Jallyr’s eyes twinkle. “In you, if that’s alright.”

Keith falters.

It was one thing, for Nim to offer Keith a place with him and Mypha, but this reads a lot more like a preposition. At least with the other two Keith could lie to himself and pretend they meant as friends.

“I’m a guy,” he says stupidly.

“I know.”

“Is that…is that also a Chion thing?”

“What is?”

“Not caring about…guys.” He closes his eyes, thinking of Hunk with the other two Chion. “With guys.”

Jallyr looks at him quizzically. “It isn’t an issue here, no. Have I offended you?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. No, I’m okay with it. Just...back home on Earth…it’s not so accepted.”

“How strange.” Jallyr’s nose twitches. “Would you prefer me to not give you this?”

_Helion Belt._

Keith fists his hands into the wolf’s fur. “I don’t mind.”

“Very well.”

Keith’s palms are clammy as he sits still. Jallyr’s thighs are strong and Keith follows the contour of them while Jallyr weaves the ribbon into the side of Keith’s hair until it looks like his own.

“There,” Jallyr says, leaning back to admire him.

Keith’s face _burns_. “Thanks.”

“Thank _you,”_ Jallyr says, face markings turning blue. “If you’re around later on, I would really like to catch you again.”

“Maybe?” Keith says, tongue tied. “I…Jallyr?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to offend but,” and somehow his face feels even hotter, “I’m not looking for a mate.”

Jallyr frowns. “Hume said you weren’t with Captain Shirogane.”

“I’m not,” Keith protests instantly, because _why_ does everyone keep thinking that? “I’m just not really…public. About who I like.”’

“Oh,” Jallyr says, blue markings glowing brighter. “I did not realise. I’m sorry.”

“It’s really okay,” Keith says. “Thanks for the—” he gestures to the braid. “It’s really nice.”

Jallyr nods, still blue, and then he bows, just like Nim did. “I’m honored, Paladin Keith.”

— K —

Keith finds Shiro after the banquet, standing on the balcony joining their quarters together. He’s out of his Atlas uniform, and as much as Keith loves the way it showcases the breadth of Shiro’s shoulders, he loves Shiro like this, too: soft around the edges, encased in grey sweatpants and a black singlet.

“Shiro,” he calls as he approaches.

Shiro looks his way, face lighting up. “Keith, hey.”

“Hi.” Keith falls into place next to him. “Big day?”

“Very,” Shiro agrees, and he sounds so tired, Keith wants nothing more than to push Shiro into bed and curl around him. “You seemed to be having fun, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

Shiro rolls his shoulders. “Saw you making friends.”

Keith laughs. “Can’t have been me.”

“I don’t know,” Shiro says, “I’m the one with the clones, not you.”

Keith sucks in a breath.

It’s nearly been a _year._

It still feels like a kick to the face.

“Sorry,” Shiro says quietly. “Too soon?”

Keith just tells the truth. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t.

Shiro uses humor to deal with his trauma, but it stings too much for Keith to join in. Dredges up too much ugliness that Keith hates to remember.

“Okay.” Shiro leans forward against the balustrade. “Seriously though, who were they?”

“Just...people I met.”

“Met, huh?” Shiro says. “They seemed pretty interested.”

"I mean, they were nice."

Keith thinks of Jallyr braiding the ribbon into his hair and feels his face heat up. He isn’t _blind;_ Jallyr was really attractive and his interest in Keith was flattering, but Keith is aching because he wants Shiro like that. He wants to watch the three suns set with Shiro pressed against him, wants Shiro’s hands in his hair, wants Shiro however he’s allowed.

Shiro snorts. "Since when did you think people were nice?"

Keith rolls his eyes, still feeling like he's standing on a knife's edge. "Yeah, I know."

“Why, were _you_ interested in any of them?”

Shiro knocks shoulders with Keith and fuck, this shouldn't be so fucking hard to get out, because it's _just Shiro_. Just Shiro, who wore the garland the Chion draped around his neck upon their arrival as a welcome gift all day; just Shiro, with moonlight in his hair and _so much confidence_. 

Keith knows him better than that, though, because he's seen Shiro at his worst, too.

He’s seen Shiro sprawled on the training mat, ashen faced, staring into nothing, blade useless at his side. He’s heard Shiro gasping awake from the other end of the cabin, has sat with him and talked about anything and everything to stop Shiro from making those awful noises. He’s had a front row seat to Shiro losing his temper just last week, when the alien race they were in negotiations with refused to acknowledge how crucial their participation in the cleanup was.

He knows Shiro isn’t the picture perfect war hero everyone sees him as.

He’s just Shiro.

And Keith isn't anywhere near as capable as Shiro can be, but Shiro is always telling him he can do anything he puts his mind to, and Keith trusts Shiro's judgement wholeheartedly, even if his self doubt and anxiety always tell him otherwise

"They were all nice."

"You said that," Shiro says, eyes twinkling. Then, a little less teasing and a bit more encouraging, "But did one of them leave an impression?"

Keith shrugs, not brave enough to answer that, because Shiro hasn't specified _which one._

So Shiro tilts his head and says, "The girl was exceptionally pretty. I think Allura said her name but I can't remember it."

Keith knows that's a blatant lie, because Shiro remembers everyone's names. It's ingrained in him to remember as a leader.

"Mypha," Keith says softly. "And no, not her."

"I'll pass on my condolences to her then." Shiro is still teasing and Keith almost wants to cry because of how nice and patient he's being, because they both know they're tiptoeing around _something_.

"Go on, then," Shiro says. "What of the other two?"

Keith doesn't look at Shiro.

He just says, "The guys?"

Shiro doesn't answer immediately, waiting for Keith instead. Keith doesn't take the leap.

Keith is _good_ with silence; it’s comfortable, it’s safe. He’s never been good at the nuances of conversation like the other paladins, and it’s so much easier to sink into the quiet.

But this is different, and he wants desperately to say something but he doesn’t know _how._

Shiro breaks the silence gently with, "Not your type?"

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, but Shiro is quiet again, waiting.

"Hey," Shiro says. "That's okay, for them not to be."

"'s not that," Keith mumbles. “They _are_ my type."

And again with the silence, which isn't doing anything for Keith because right now he just wants a hand on his shoulder or a hug or to be left alone and Shiro isn't talking and that means _he must know_ and oh fuck—

"So, your type is twinky aliens?"

Keith gasps, mortified. "Shiro, _no."_

"Hey, I'm just pointing out facts from the limited information."

“Shiro!”

Keith whacks him soundly on the arm and Shiro laughs, and it's bubbly and infectious and Keith can't _not_ tell him now, not when he feels like a dam has broken inside him.

“You're a dick."

"You love me," Shiro simpers, and yeah, _fuck_ , Keith does.

"You already know that," Keith says. "Stop fishing for compliments."

"But it's working so well." Shiro grins. "And besides, I've got nothing else to fish for since you're not even going to tell me your type."

Keith looks at him. "Do you really have to ask?"

"I don't know." Shiro shrugs, like this is a normal conversation about liking pineapple with pizza. "If you want to tell me, that's your decision.” _That_ isn’t a pineapple on pizza line of conversation. “If you don't, that's also your decision."

No, definitely not pizza.

Keith sucks his lip between his teeth, clenching his hands on the railing. "Okay."

He doesn’t look up, but Shiro's smile shows in his voice.

"Okay."

Shiro reaches out then, carefully. He settles his hand on the sway of Keith's back. It’s such a simple touch and yet it burns Keith all the way through, leaves him aching in the best way possible.

Keith could let it go, he really could.

They could talk about a million other things, like Pidge zooming off immediately with the technologically-inclined Chion this morning, or Romelle and Acxa disappearing into the armory before the festival to explore, or Allura abusing her Altean powers to hide how green she’d turned after tasting one of the dishes at the banquet.

He could let it go, and he knows that Shiro would let him do that, wouldn't chase anything unless Keith opened it all up again.

Except.

Except Keith wants to.

He _needs_ to.

He's breathing way too loudly. His heart is actually going to splat onto the floor, fuck.

“They're super...not fussy here, hey?" Okay, not great, but it’s a start.

Shiro's hand is still warm against his back. "About?"

He's teasing him, Keith knows, but it isn’t mean spirited.

"Who you like," Keith utters, tongue thick and useless, mouth too fucking dry.

"No," Shiro says softly. "No, they're not."

Keith takes a deep breath and feels like he's getting stabbed in the gut as he does. "You've never been, either."

“Course not.”

Keith runs a hand through his hair, fingers shaking, body humming with the instinct to just _run_ and _leave_ and _hide_.

Get it out, Keith, _fuck._

"Shiro?" His voice almost breaks and there’s too much upwards inflection at the end, too much—

"Yeah?"

"I..."

His mouth opens, closes, opens again, and then snaps shut.

He can't do it.

Shiro is there immediately, hand rubbing circles on his back, stroking up his spine, distracting and comforting and horrible and wonderful all at once.

Keith wants to _die_.

"It's okay. You're okay."

It’s just Shiro.

Just Shiro.

Keith takes a split second to think, _fuck it,_ and then he blurts out, "They were my type."

Shiro doesn't tease, he just waits. Again.

"They...they were..."

Keith looks away again, whole body thumping with his overactive heartbeat.

Nothing happens.

It’s still just Shiro.

It’s almost as if the nerves settle deep within Keith, then; they make a home for themselves within his viscera, trickle into his bone marrow like water from melting icicles.

It feels like the nail in the coffin moment, this unwavering sense of finality that takes over Keith, until he just says quietly: "Shiro, I'm gay."

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Say something.

Anything.

_Please._

The circles, which haven't stopped once, keep going, like Keith didn't just unearth this _big thing_.

Then Shiro's hand pushes on Keith's back, gentle but purposeful. "Hey. Come here."

After all his time having Shiro in his life, receiving a hug isn't wholly unexpected. But it _is_ very much welcomed, and when Shiro’s arms come around him fully, Keith _melts,_ feeling like as the tension bleeds from him, it takes the rest of him with it.

He hides his face in Shiro's shoulder and holds on as Shiro resumes the stroking, resting his chin on Keith's head and saying, "Oh, _Keith._ "

Something big and _heavy_ slams into Keith at that, and without warning he’s crying. He doesn't even know why because he isn’t sad or upset at all—he's just a big tangled mess, finally allowed to unravel.

Shiro holds him close, and then he does something that makes Keith cry even harder.

"Thank you,” he says quietly, “Thank you for telling me," and he kisses Keith's temple.

It feels like dissolving, like standing in the midst of a thunderstorm, like being swept away with the falling tide.

It feels like letting go.

Keith doesn’t gather himself until an embarrassingly long time later.

"Sorry," he says automatically, because he's gotten snot and tears all over Shiro's shoulder and it's fucking gross, who does that?

Except then he looks up and Shiro is all watery too. Fuck, they are both a mess.

"Keith," Shiro says, still holding Keith to him, and his Altean hand comes up and cups Keith's face. "Thank you. That was...it's really difficult telling people that, and I'm so, _so_ proud of you."

Keith sniffles. He really wants a tissue but the sleeve of his jacket is going to have to make do.

Shiro, ever the leader, gentleman, capable, is the one to wipe his tears away.

"Shiro, don’t, no, it's gross—"

Shiro ignores him. "Sh, it's fine." He lets Keith go then, lets him curl against Shiro’s side this time. "I'm really proud of you though."

"Thanks," Keith says, shy, gauche, still gross, still bleeding out.

"Always."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise for stupid stuff. I'm really proud of you."

Keith burrows into the warmth of him. It’s weird for Shiro to be so insistent about being proud of him, because it's something Keith should have— _could_ have—just done, and not made a big deal out of it.

But it was difficult—so, _so_ difficult.

Keith knows Shiro is being genuine.

He never lies to Keith.

"Thanks," Keith says anyway. "I mean. God, I knew you'd be okay with it and not judge or whatever but..."

"Still," Shiro finishes for him. "I get it. I've been there too."

Keith nods, slipping back into silence, even as the burning _need_ to tell Shiro the _other part_ presses into him.

Shiro's hand is still on Keith, still moving in soothing circles and strokes and honestly, Keith could just fall asleep here, cocooned against Shiro’s side.

He’s safe here.

He’s always safe with Shiro.

"Hey," Shiro says for Keith, because they're best friends, they've always known when the other is thinking about something far too hard. "How're you feeling?"

"Weird," Keith says truthfully, because he doesn't know if he's okay or happy or sad or in disbelief that he even came out to Shiro because what the fuck—

"That's normal," Shiro says, and then he smiles down at Keith. "I was like that, too."

Keith nods, falling against Shiro again as his brain kicks into overdrive.

Because he needs to tell Shiro.

Part of him is relieved that part of the truth is out, and the other part is eating him _alive_.

He loves Shiro so much it's borderline ridiculous, and Shiro _has_ to know, surely. Keith knows he is way too obvious with his feelings, and Shiro always looks at him with such unabashed appreciation. Most days it catches Keith off guard that such a precious sentiment would be directed at _him_.

“Shiro?”

Shiro keeps his cheek against Keith’s temple. “Yeah?”

"I, um." Keith starts, and then screws his eyes shut, takes another gut-stabbing deep breath. "I need to tell you something."

Shiro raises a brow. "Sure, Keith. Whatever you want."

Keith gulps in air that doesn't find its way to his lungs. The trembling is back, starting in his fingertips and buzzing all the way up his arms, to his ribcage, his heartbeat, melding with his hummingbird pulse.

And of course he takes too long because Shiro says again, "Hey. Keith. It's okay. You're okay."

Keith nods quick enough that his head feels like it could snap off—and maybe he wants that, fuck, anything but _this_ —but he blurts out, "I care about you. A lot."

A small smile graces Shiro's mouth. "I care about you too."

And no, _no,_ Keith needs to stop fucking this up because he needs to _get this out_. "More than a friend."

Shiro pauses.

There isn't enough oxygen in the room at all.

_Breathe._

"And," Keith says, falters, and then swallows and tells himself to press on. "More than a brother."

Nothing happens.

Keith holds his breath, waiting for an answer.

None are forthcoming.

Keith withdraws and looks up.

Shiro is staring at him, face slack with shock. He’s pointing at himself, brow drawn together, like he can’t believe what Keith just said.

Keith stares right back.

"Shiro?" he asks, scared. Then he ploughs on regardless because, hey, he’s already got one foot in the grave, might as well just dive headfirst and hope his spine breaks when he does. "I love you. More than a friend—more than a brother. I meant it—everything. You're—I don't—"

"Hey," Shiro interrupts, and Keith is shaking as Shiro pulls him close for another hug. “Hey, shush, hey. It’s okay.”

It isn’t. Keith feels like he’s shutting down.

Stop shaking. _Stop._

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, and then, after a pause, so Keith has all the time in the world to listen: "I love you too, y’know."

It feels like getting stabbed.

Keith screws his eyes shut, knowing Shiro is letting him down easy and it _hurts_ , it’s the _wrong_ way to do it, to start off by saying that because he’s stupid and hopeful and he _can’t_ hear the inevitable 'but like a brother'.

Please. No.

Please let it be over.

Keith extricates himself from Shiro’s arms, from his warmth, and they stand side by side, looking at the water.

Please let it be over.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

Keith almost whimpers.

Make it stop.

Shiro doesn't go the direction Keith expects. Instead he says, "You know, some days I can't even think about smiling for real, and then you'll walk into the room and you'll have me grinning anyway."

Keith is confused by the segue but he decides to humour Shiro, because it’s better than replaying the last ten seconds over and over and over in his head. "Yeah?"

Shiro hums. "You're always there for me. Always. _Always_."

Well, Keith _did_ promise. "You are too."

"Am I?"

"Yeah, of course you are."

Shiro huffs a small laugh. "Well. I try to be."

"You _are_."

"I'm glad," Shiro says, and he tips his chin up to look at the stars, and how odd it is, that he can't face Keith when he speaks, because he's a dork, and he's a rebellious brat who teases the shit out Keith, but he's always brave _._ "You know, after everything you've done for me, all those times, saving me, taking care of me…"

He trails off, and then he looks at Keith with the kindest, gentlest expression Keith has probably ever seen him with.

“God, how could I not?”

Keith's brain is completely not keeping up. "Not what?"

Shiro laughs, and he looks down between them, picks up Keith's hand and brings it up to rest his cheek against it. It isn't the first time they've held hands, but it _is_ the first time they've held hands like _this_.

It’s always been out of necessity to keep from being separated, never just the two of them. It would be all of the paladins linked together, fighting their way through crowds or floating in space.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers so, _so_ gently that Keith feels like he’s splintering, and then Shiro turns his face to kiss Keith’s knuckles.

What.

“What?”

Shiro doesn’t answer him directly, just nuzzles Keith’s wrist, and then he chuckles and fuck, it’s the best sound Keith’s heard. “I love you.”

Shiro said it before, but Keith is a non-believer, always.

“Wha…actually?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“ _Yeah._ ” It’s fucking _impossible_ to believe.

Shiro makes a little noise of protest in the back of his throat. "I love you."

_No,_ Keith thinks, _no you don't,_ because he's dreamed of this for years and now it's happening and he doesn't know what to do.

“I…” He blinks. “Like a brother?”

“No. God, _no.”_

Keith sucks his lips between his teeth. “More?”

“I…” And then Shiro turns crimson. “ _Yeah._ ”

“Okay.”

Shiro lowers his hand, then leans closer. "Keith.”

Keith will never tire of the way his name sounds falling from Shiro's mouth.

Shiro brushes their noses together and Keith feels Shiro’s laughter upon his skin.

"Are…are you okay?" Shiro asks.

Keith just nods mutely, because his brain is still lagging and he's kind of frozen too and he definitely should be saying _something_ but everything that comes to mind is just rows and rows of jumbled letters.

"Yeah," he gets out. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a bit. Yeah."

Shiro huffs another laugh, and then reaches out and curves his hand against Keith's cheek, right against Keith's scar. "I can't believe…and you're so…" His voice is low when he asks, "Keith, can I kiss you?"

Keith sucks in a breath, because he's never kissed anyone, _ever._ "Uh huh."

The kiss never comes.

At least, to his mouth. Instead it lands on his cheek, gentle, calming. The next one to his nose, which makes him scrunch it up and Shiro laughs again, before kissing his other cheek. He kisses right over Keith's scar and the touch is so _reverent_ that Keith wants to cry again.

"Okay?"

Keith is definitely about to cry. "Yeah, Shiro, _yeah."_

Shiro pauses, pressing his forehead to Keith's and inhaling slowly. "I'm going to kiss you now," he says. "Properly."

Keith's never wanted anything more. "Okay."

Shiro's hands are both on Keith face now, warm and huge as he leans in and presses his lips to Keith's.

_Soft,_ is all Keith thinks. _It's soft._

It's over after a beat, quick enough that Keith wonders briefly if it even happened, and then Shiro bumps their noses together again.

"Still okay?"

Keith has hypertension, surely. "Uh huh."

"Good." And Shiro kisses Keith again, just the same, and then a third time.

On the fourth, he opens his mouth and kisses Keith's top lip slowly.

On the fifth, Keith's bottom lip.

The sixth involves Shiro's teeth scraping lightly, the seventh a flick of his tongue.

After the eighth, when Shiro exhales heavily into Keith's open mouth, Keith forgets to keep counting.

They end up against the balustrade, Shiro keeping him there with his hips and his hands and his devastating mouth. He keeps grabbing Keith's waist, then sliding up his chest to touch his face instead, as if Shiro can't decide which part of him he likes touching more.

As far as Keith is concerned, Shiro can do anything he wants.

He just holds onto the balustrade, too scared to even think about touching Shiro, except then Shiro draws back, and his mouth is kiss-bitten and spit-slick and the sight of it has Keith so, _so_ turned on, it's embarrassing.

Just minutes ago, he was having a heart attack.

“Still okay?” Shiro pants.

_Fuck_.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Cool.” Shiro circles fingers around Keith's wrist and brings it up and says, "You can…you’re allowed to touch me, you know."

Keith has no idea where to begin with _that_. "Really?"

"Please."

Oh.

So Keith does.

He starts at Shiro's shoulder, because it's broad and feels like neutral enough territory. After a minute, he shifts to Shiro's bicep, squeezing appreciatively.

Fuck, he wants to be crushed by those arms.

"Okay?" He checks.

Shiro's breathing is uneven. "Keep going."

Keith can barely breathe. “Okay.”

He gets to Shiro's forearm and traces his finger across the veins there, noting all the little responses Shiro makes. Shiro's pulse is strong and quick when Keith thumbs at his wrist, and it triples when Keith picks it up and kisses it slowly, just like how Shiro did to him earlier.

"Is…” Keith trails off. “Is this what you wanted?"

Shiro nods. "Yeah, Keith."

And Keith could probably keep going, could drag his mouth up Shiro's arm and teethe at the swell of Shiro's bicep, the curve of his shoulder, the plane of his neck. He could bite his way into Shiro's mouth and drag Shiro inside to roll around in bed with him.

But this is _new._

Keith didn't even know how _okay_ it was to be like this until this afternoon. He didn't know he could have Shiro like this until mere _minutes_ ago.

"Shiro?" he asks, because he wants everything but he’s so scared, too.

"Hm?"

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Keith confesses.

Shiro pauses. “Really?”

“I mean, _yeah._ ” He shrugs. “There was never…” Anyone else.

Shiro sinks forward, pressing his face to Keith's shoulder. "Fucking hell," he bites out, and Keith freezes.

"Shiro?"

Fingers flex on Keith's hips. "Sorry," Shiro says. "Hey, relax. Relax. I'm just surprised."

Keith's heart is pounding. "Why?"

"Because you're _you,"_ Shiro says. "You could have _anyone_."

Keith feels Shiro's mouth against his neck. "No I couldn't."

Shiro meets Keith's gaze. "You could. Look at all those Chion you had at the festival, for starters."

Keith almost apologises, and then he pauses. "I...yeah, it's only ever been you."

Shiro's eyes are wet again. " _Keith_."

"I'm serious."

“I…what did I do?" Shiro murmurs. "After everything, how did I get to have you?"

Keith's body is on fire. "I told you,” he says, burning alive in the best way, “as many times as it takes."

It still feels like the oath it is.

And Shiro's hug is so, so tight, it hurts. It hurts Keith’s ribs, hurts his heart and his eyes. It stings and stings and Keith is so grateful for it.

He hugs back just as tight.

“I love you,” he says, feeling the weight of the words on his tongue, the shape of them in his mouth.

Shiro nods, cheeks damp, hand curling around Keith’s neck. “I love you too.”

It’s just Shiro.

The kiss he gives Keith is gentle. It's slow, like easing into a hot bath. Shiro's arms are strong around Keith, safe, secure.

And maybe later they'll sit down, and talk through all of it properly. Maybe Shiro will wake up and realise how much he doesn't want Keith. Or maybe they'll go to bed together, and Keith will be able to wind his arms around Shiro and burrow against him. Maybe in the morning he’ll open his eyes and stroke his thumb along Shiro’s cheekbone, just because he’s allowed to.

He’s _allowed_ to.

But that’s for the future. Keith is tired.

**Author's Note:**

> To [Jess](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy): thank you _so_ much for beta-ing.
> 
> Bug me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/sepiacigarettes?s=09)!


End file.
